The Sweet Far Thing

by Libba Bray

  I pull away. “And hello to you, too, Pip.”

  “Gemma,” she says, putting her arms round my waist. “You do know how very much I love you, don’t you?”

  “Is it me or the magic you love?”

  Hurt, Pippa takes refuge on the altar, tearing marigolds from the floor by their stalks and tossing them aside. “You wouldn’t deny me some measure of happiness, would you, Gemma? I shall be trapped here an eternity with no one but those coarse, common girls as my companions.”

  “Pippa,” I say gently. “I want your happiness, truly I do. But someday soon, I’ll have to return the magic to the Temple and form an alliance to oversee its safety. I won’t always have it at my fingertips like this. Have you given any thought to how you will spend the rest of your days?”

  Tears pool in her eyes. “Can’t I join your alliance?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “You’re not—” I bite the word off before it comes out of my mouth.

  “Alive? A member of a tribe?” A fat tear rolls down her cheek. “I don’t belong to your world and I don’t belong to theirs. I’m not a part of the Winterlands, either. I don’t belong anywhere, do I?”

  It’s as if she’s pierced me straight through, for how often have I felt that way myself?

  Pip buries her head in her hands. “You don’t know how it is for me, Gemma. How I count the hours until the three of you return.”

  “It is the same for us,” I assure her. For when we are together, everything seems possible, and there is no end in sight. We will simply go on like this forever, dancing and singing and running through the forest laughing. That alone is enough to make me take her hands and share the power with her.

  “Here,” I say. I stretch out my arms and she comes running.

  “Pip, I’ve a present for you!” Felicity says again when we return. She unfurls the fur-trimmed cape.

  “Oh,” Pip sighs, cuddling it. “It’s extraordinary! Darling Fee!” She gives Felicity a sweet kiss on the cheek, and Felicity smiles as if she were the happiest girl in the world.

  Bessie Timmons muscles between them. She holds the cape up, examining it. “Don’t seem so special.”

  “Now, Bessie,” Pip scolds, snatching it from her hands. “That won’t do. A lady must say something kind or not speak at all.”

  Bessie leans against a marble column whose many cracks are threaded with weeds. “Guess I’ll keep it shut, then.”

  Pippa lifts her hair and allows Felicity to secure the cape’s ribbons around her slender neck, and she preens and prances about in it.

  Ann and the factory girls take over the altar. She tells them about Macbeth. She makes it sound like a ghost story, which I suppose it is.

  “I ain’t never been to no real theater,” Mae Sutter says when Ann finishes.

  “We shall have our own here,” Pippa promises. She settles into the throne as if born to it.

  Felicity finds an old drape. Under her touch it becomes a cape just like the one she’s given Pip. It’s lovely, but when she settles beside Pip, the illusion shows. It cannot compare to the real one. “Our Ann is to have an audience with Lily Trimble.”

  “Go on!” Mae laughs.

  “I am,” Ann says. “In the West End.”

  “Back there,” Mercy says with a mixture of admiration and jealousy. “Remember them chips we could get on Wednesdays, Wendy?”

  “Aye. Greasy.”

  “Drippin’ with grease and pipin’ hot!” Mercy’s smile fades. “I miss it.”

  “Oi, not me.” Bessie Timmons jumps up from her spot by the fire and pushes to the front. “Nuttin’ but misery. Work from dark to dark. And nuttin’ waitin’ for yer at home, neither, ’cept yer mum with too many moufs to feed and no’ enuf to go round.”

  Mercy keeps her eyes on her boots. “Wasn’t all bad. M’sister Gracie was right sweet. And I ’ad grand dreams.” Tears come, and she sniffles, wiping her nose.

  Bessie crouches low and brings her snarl to the girl’s face. “A bellyache and stiff fingers from the cold is wot you ’ad, Mercy Paxton. Don’t go cryin’ fer it.”

  Mae steps in. “We’ve got ever’thin’ here, Mercy. Don’t you see?”

  “Mercy, come to me,” Pippa commands. The girl struggles up from the floor and walks shyly to her. Pippa cups the girl’s face in her palm, smiling at her. “Mercy, that’s all done now, so let’s dry our tears. We’re here, and it shall be everything we ever dreamed it could be. You’ll see.”

  The girl rubs her nose on her sleeve, and with that one movement, her youth shows. She’s no more than thirteen. It’s terrible to think of her working in that factory from sunup till sundown.

  “Who wants to go on a merry adventure, then?” Pippa asks.

  The girls erupt in enthusiastic cries. Even Mercy manages a smile.

  “What sort of adventure?” Ann asks.

  Pippa giggles. “You’ll have to trust me. Now, close your eyes and follow me. There shall be no peeking!”

  With Pip at the lead, we’re pulled along holding hands, a paper chain of girls. We’re out of the castle. I can feel the cool of the Borderlands on my skin.

  “Open!” Pip commands.

  Before us is an enormous hedge, well over eight feet tall. At one end I spy an entrance.

  Ann breaks into a grin. “It’s a maze!”

  “Yes,” Pip says, clapping. “Isn’t it splendid? Who’s game?”

  “I am,” Bessie Timmons says. She runs around the corner, disappearing into the maze’s belly.

  “And me.” Mae runs after her.

  “I love a good hide-and-seek. Find me, Fee!” With that, Pippa pulls up her skirts, and Felicity, giggling, gives chase. I’m the last in. I don’t know how the others could have gotten away from me so fast. I turn corner after corner, but all I see is a maddening flutter of color and then nothing. The hedge walls are the most unusual I’ve ever seen, made of tightly woven clover and small black flowers, and I swear they shift so that when I look behind me, the passage has changed. The isolation sends my mind into strange corners, and I quicken my steps.

  “Ann!” I cry.

  “Over here!” she shouts back. The sound comes from everywhere at once, so I cannot be at all certain where to go next. I hear whispering. Is it coming from up ahead?

  When I go round the edge, there are Felicity and Pippa standing close, foreheads touching, hands clasped. They murmur in private conference, and I can hear only a word here, a phrase there.

  “…there’s a way…”

  “…but how…”

  “…we could…together…you see?”

  “…Pip…”

  “…promise me…”

  “…promise…”

  I step on a downed branch. It breaks with a loud crack. At once, they drop hands and charm me with too-quick smiles.

  “You oughtn’t sneak up like that, Gemma,” Fee scolds, but her hand is at her heart, and her face is flushed.

  Pippa jumps in, all smiles. “Fee was teaching me how to curtsy for the Queen. It’s hideously difficult, but she can do it brilliantly, can’t you, Fee?”

  On cue, Felicity drops to the ground, her arms holding her skirt, her head low. Those cool eyes dart a glance upward at me.

  “You were discussing the curtsy,” I repeat dumbly.

  “Yes.” Pippa’s smile is a lie.

  “It’s no matter. You needn’t tell me,” I say, turning.

  “Gemma, you’re being silly!” Felicity calls after me. “It was the curtsy we were speaking of!”

  I hear them whispering behind my back as I walk away. Fine. Let them have their secrets. I twist and turn through the maze. The magic swirls and eddies inside me. I could eat the world, devour it whole. I need to run. To hit. To wound and heal in equal measure.

  I need, and it is more than I can bear.

  On nimble feet, I fly into the forest. Where my hands touch, something new is born. Strange flowers as tall as men. A flock of butterflies with shiny yellow wings edged in
black. Dark purple fruit, fat and heavy on the branch. I squeeze one hard in my hand and the juice turns to maggots. I throw it quickly away from me; the disgusting creatures burrow into the earth, and the earth responds with a crop of wildflowers.

  Lights blink in the trees, and a fairy creature appears. “Such power,” she says, marveling.

  My head is light; I’m swollen with magic. Suddenly, I want only to get rid of it. “Here,” I say, laying my hand upon her head. It’s as cold as snow where we touch, and I glimpse a vast darkness before I pull away.

  The creature turns loops, trailing sparkles. “Ahhh, I know you now,” she purrs, and trails a finger across my heart.

  I shake my head. “No one knows me.”

  The creature circles me slowly till I feel dizzy. “There is a place where you will be known. Loved.” Her cold breath whispers in my ear. “Wanted. You need only to follow.”

  She flies deep into the fog banks that obscure the Winterlands, and I give chase, letting the mist swallow me till my friends’ laughter is a faint memory of sound. I’m farther in than I’ve ever been. Slimy vines slither across my bare feet like serpents come aground; I hold still, calming my breath.

  The fairy creature hovers near my shoulder. Her eyes are black jewels. “Listen,” she whispers.

  Close in my ear, I hear a voice from the Winterlands, as soft as a mother’s goodnight kiss: “Tell us your fears and your desires….”

  Something deep inside me wants to answer. Such longing, as if I’ve found a piece of myself I never knew was missing till now.

  The voice comes again: “This is where you belong, where your destiny lies. There is nothing to fear….”

  The fairy’s lips turn up in a smile. “Do you hear it?”

  I nod, but I can’t speak. The pull is strong. I want only to go, to join with whatever waits on the other side.

  “I could show you the way to the Tree of All Souls,” the thing with the bright golden wings says. “And then you would know true power. You’d never be lonely again.”

  The vines caress my ankles; one slithers up my leg. The mist parts; the gate to the Winterlands beckons. I take a step toward it.

  The little creature shoos me on with her spindly fingers. “That’s it. Go on.”

  “Gemma!” My name drifts through the mist, and I take a step back.

  “Don’t listen! Go on!” the fairy hisses, but my friends call out again, and this time I hear something else—horses riding hard and fast.

  I turn away from the Winterlands and the fairy creature, running till the fog thins and I’m back near the castle. The girls spill out of the maze. “What is it? What’s happening?” Ann shouts. She’s got Wendy by the arm.

  “Over there!” Felicity shouts, and we run to the bramble wall.

  Coming quickly up the path is a band of centaurs, Creostus in the lead. They slow at the sight of us.

  Creostus points to me. “Priestess! You’re coming with me.”

  “She isn’t going anywhere with the likes of you,” Felicity says, standing to my right like a soldier.

  The centaur paces on his strong legs. “She is called by Philon. She must account for herself.”

  “We shall accompany you, Gemma,” Ann vows.

  “But we were having such fun.” Pippa pouts.

  “Shall we come?” Felicity asks, but she doesn’t let go of Pip’s hand.

  I think of the two of them whispering behind my back, sharing secrets, leaving me out. Well, perhaps I’d like a secret of my own.

  “No. I’ll go alone,” I say, and duck through the brambles to the other side.

  “Yes, Gemma will sort it all out, won’t you?” Pippa says, dragging Felicity toward the maze again.

  Creostus eyes Wendy hungrily. “I should like to take you with me and make you my queen. Have you ever ridden on a centaur’s back?”

  Mae pulls Wendy away. “’Ave a care, sir. We are ladies.”

  “Yes, I know. Ladies. My favorite sort.”

  “Creostus, if you’ve done with your suit of Miss Wendy, I shall accompany you to Philon,” I interrupt, wondering what is so urgent that Philon has sent for me.

  Creostus’s booming laugh leaves gooseflesh upon my arms. He paces close to me. “Jealous, Priestess? Do you wish to compete for my affections? I should like to see that.”

  “I’m sure you would. But you will die first and so let us journey to Philon, if you please.”

  “She worships me,” he says with a wink, and I have the urge to put a bonnet on his head and paint him dancing to the pipes to hang on a fashionable lady’s wall.

  “Creostus, do we ride or not?”

  He brushes my body with his. “Desperate to be alone with me, are you?”

  “I shall turn you into a ladybug. See if I won’t.”

  With seemingly no effort at all, Creostus swoops me up onto his back. As we ride toward the forest, I clutch his waist for dear life. Whatever the reason for this visit, it can’t be good. Down below in the river, I see that Gorgon steams ahead, keeping pace with us.

  No, this isn’t good at all.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  * * *

  THERE IS A DIFFERENT AIR TO THE FOREST TODAY. THE creatures do not loll about. The children do not play their games. Instead, they are hard at work. Some whittle wood into sharp points. Others test crude crossbows. A hail of arrows screams over my head, making me duck. They find their targets in the soft bark of distant trees. Gorgon slides to the shore, and I run to her.

  “Gorgon, what is the matter?”

  “I cannot say, Most High. But there is trouble.”

  Philon strides toward us in a magnificent coat of twigs and leaves with a high collar and sleeves that end in points near the tips of those long fingers. The catlike eyes narrow at the sight of me.

  “You have betrayed us, Priestess.”

  “What do you mean? Betrayed you? How?”

  The forest folk gather around Philon. Some carry spears. Neela hops onto Creostus’s back, her lips curled in disgust.

  “You have been seen at the Temple in secret talks with the Hajin,” Philon says, accusing me.

  “I haven’t!” I protest.

  Philon and Creostus share a glance. Is Philon tricking me? Is this a ruse or a test of some sort?

  “Do you deny that you have paid visits to the Temple?”

  I’ve been to see Circe, but I cannot tell them that.

  “I have been to the Temple,” I say carefully. “That is where we shall join hands in alliance, is it not?”

  Neela climbs onto a stump and crouches down. As she talks, her hair shimmers from blue to black and back again. “She will join with them and betray us for the Order! They will build the runes once again!” she shouts. “While we toil here, the filthy Hajin reign over the poppy fields and we are forced to bargain for their crop.”

  Discontent ripples through the assembly.

  Neela smirks. “While Philon has us wait, the Hajin will enter into secret alliance with the Order. It will give them all the power. Things will be as they always have been, and once again, it is the forest folk who will suffer.”

  “Nyim syatt!” Philon thunders, but the forest folk’s leader is drowned out by the loud arguing of the tribe. They shout, “What of our share?” and “Let us not be taken again!”

  “How long before they come for our land? Before they take the little power we do have?” a centaur demands angrily.

  Neela returns to Creostus’s back. “I say we fight! Let us force this priestess to join hands now.”

  Philon prepares the leaf pipe. Those long, dusky fingers press the crumbled red petals down into the mouth of it. “What do you say to these charges, Priestess?”

  “I gave you my word that I would honor your tribe, and I shall keep my promise.”

  Neela appeals to the crowd. “Do you hear how smoothly she lies?”

  “I am not lying!” I shout.

  Creostus takes a stand behind me,
blocking the path to escape. “I told you she could not be trusted, Philon. She’s one of them, and they will never part with the magic willingly. The Order.” Creostus sneers. He paces as he speaks, as if addressing his soldiers. “I remember when the Order punished my family. They stripped us of everything. Our fathers were banished to the Winterlands. The cold was too much for our kind. Those who did not die from the elements were taken by the creatures there. They were tortured and worse. A generation of centaurs was lost. We will not allow that to happen again. Never again.”

  The centaurs beat their hooves against the ground and roar.

  “They took my father from me. I will take two of their people for my honor.”

  “Honor,” Gorgon hisses from the lagoon. “What do you know of it?”

  Creostus sidles up to the giant beast at the head of the ship. “More than one who would be their lackey. Have you told her how you betrayed your own people?”

  “That is enough talk,” Gorgon growls.

  “Philon, if the Hajin plot against us with the Order, we should strike while we still can, before they take everything from us,” Neela argues.

  “The Hajin are peaceful,” I protest.

  “They are traitors and cowards.” Neela nestles close to Philon. She takes a puff from the pipe and blows it into the creature’s mouth. “Why should those filthy diseased have all the poppies, Philon? Why should we need to barter for them?”

  “It has been their right since the rebellion,” Philon answers.

  “Because they sided with the Order. Now they plot against us! The Order will take what is ours and give it to the Untouchables! We will be left with nothing!”

  “Do you have so little faith in me, Neela?” Philon’s eyes narrow.

  “You do not see clearly. You have too much faith in the girl. A battle for the realms has begun. They mean to destroy us. We must strike to defend ourselves.”

  “They did not strike us first.”

  Creostus bellows, “Have you forgotten what they did to us?”

  More angry shouting erupts in the crowd, each fear more terrible than the last, till they’re frenzied. “They will take our land! They will kill our children! We must strike!”